


project cauchemar

by iwouldcurseworldsforyou



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, a lot of widowmaker meta, the widowtracer is slowburn, told from an OC's POV, tracer's not gonna show up for a little bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:59:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwouldcurseworldsforyou/pseuds/iwouldcurseworldsforyou
Summary: retombe: a classical ballet term that describes when a ballet dancer falls back again to the original position from where they started; literally: falling back





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic for the overwatch fandom, so i hope i do it justice! feedback fuels me to write faster!
> 
> also this fic is NOT gonna be super happy in the beginning, it deals with a lot of widowmaker's time with talon and her conditioning and EVENTUALLY how she begins to overcome it. i'm not sure how graphic it's going to end up being, so i tagged it with the violence thing just in case. i don't want to accidentally trigger anyone so if widowmaker having A Bad Time is gonna mess you up, let me know and i'll let you know what sections to avoid as i write them. 
> 
> (and just to reassure you guys, this is widowtracer all the way! we just have to get widowmaker to a better point first.)

Daniel Vasquez is not a bad man.

He’s not a killer, he’s a healer. At least that’s what he reminds himself every morning when he slides his keycard at the side entrance of Talon’s French headquarters. He walks through the metal detector with an ease that only comes with habit, not peace. He doesn’t carry a weapon, he’s never even fired a gun. The sight of blood even makes him squeamish. It’s probably what got him here in the first place.

A perfect GPA means nothing if you can’t handle the sight of blood, his instructors had commented, at first gently but eventually with disdain. He was asked to leave the program. Maybe, they suggested, he would fit in better with the more…theoretical side of neurology. But no one cared about theory when thousands were dying in the street each day. The world needed trauma surgeons, paramedics, and doctors, not an intern with shaky breaths and big ideas.

Ideas got you nowhere. In most parts of Talon, ideas got you dead.

In one small, dark corner of the research and development floor, ideas are not only allowed, but encouraged. Supervision is minimal, mostly for legal reasons. Plausible deniability is your investor’s very best friend, he thinks bitterly.

_If they only knew what we kept down here._

_Or_ who.

—

On Daniel’s first day, they issue him standard black scrubs, a lab coat, and a small recording device to wear under his clothing.

“What’s this for? I thought I was hired to work in the lab?” he asks, signing his fifth nondisclosure agreement. He’s given up on actually reading what they’re placing in front of him. This is the second hour and he forgot his coffee on the counter on his way out the door this morning.

The man in front of him flicks his eyes to a woman in a suit. Some kind of lawyer, he presumes. She nods crisply in return and he replies, “You’ll be operating in your own sector. Your own project, so to speak. The room’s clean–”

“Clean?”

“Of any other recording devices. We can’t risk anyone else piggybacking on our surveillance. You’ll have the only record of what happens in that room. Every time you leave, you will deposit the USB drive into the lock box next to the entrance. If you attempt to leave this floor with the device, it will automatically self-destruct, do you understand?”

Daniel nods rapidly, “of course. But isn’t that, uh. Slightly dangerous?”

“Not if you do your job, Vasquez.” the man says, a smirk just barely forming in the corner of his mouth.

And Daniel finds that he can’t really argue with that.

—

After another hour of paperwork, Daniel finds himself on a brief tour of the facility.

“Mess hall’s down on the right, the break room’s two rooms down on the left. The coffee’s usually shit, but it’s free…”

He tunes out his reluctant tour guide and takes in the midday bustle of the building. Hundreds of people scurry about, some deep in thought, but mostly chatting animatedly about their work. Both agents and scientists alike balance coffee cups atop looming piles of folders and paperwork, always going forward, never pausing to breathe. He catches a few curious and friendly glances, before they flicker to his scrubs and pale or back away.

“Why are they looking at me like that?” he wonders, just a little too loud.

“I dunno, kid. Because you’re new?” the soldier grunts.

Daniel thinks the response sounds a little too casual, but he decides to let it go for now. It won’t do him any good to start trouble on his first day.

“Where am I taking you anyways, Vasquez?”

He rummages through his folders before finding a heavy binder. The phrase “Project: Cauchemar” is impressed on the cover in deep gold.

The man opposite him lets out a low whistle. “You’re about to have a hell of a ride. If you can last the rest of the week, me and the boys’ll take you out for drinks this weekend.”

Daniel opens his mouth to respond, but the soldier cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t know anything, kid. Just rumors, and not good ones.” he shifts slightly and crosses his arms, “She’s been gone for two months undercover, and by the time she gets to you she should be reasonably calm. Shouldn’t be too bad for your first day.”

“She?”

“…you have absolutely no idea what you’re walking into, do you? Christ, I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. None of agents even know about her on an official level. We just get called in for back up occasionally if she gets in a tight spot”, the soldier grumbles. “Look kid, just. Go in through that door. You’ll get the official story there.”

Daniel clutches the binder in his arms like a security blanket. He feels it slide a little under his damp grip. “I’ll just–” he gestures vaguely, “be going then.”

He manages to slide his key card through the slot after a few clumsy attempts. He then holds still for the facial recognition scan, and after a few moments, the door clicks open.

“It’s Shaw, by the way. Jahan Shaw. Find me in the mess hall on Friday and I’ll take you out for drink…if you’re still employed, that is.” he grins.

He smiles weakly in return, and walks through the doorway.

Daniel tries to pretend that the sound of heavy automatic lock behind him doesn’t make him jump.

He has a feeling that he’s going to have to get a lot better at lying to himself if he wants to succeed in this place.

The instructions within the black binder are straightforward.

_Subject: Project: Cauchemar aka Widowmaker aka **[redacted]**_

_Base guidelines:_

  1. _Do not verbally engage with subject._
  2. _All forms of communication and data retrieval will be completed via forms 10-6b though 11-4a. (see attached sample documents)_
  3. _Do not make physical contact with subject._
  4. _Note all forms of verbal communication by subject._
  5. _In case of danger, press panic button located under terminal one._
  6. _If the panic button is out of reach, say reset code “retombe”. (after subject has been neutralized, call extension 214 for subject retrieval)_



_Please note: Subject is extremely dangerous, even when unarmed. Her senses are heightened far above the average human, and she feels no guilt or remorse for any of her actions. Do not attempt to bond with her in any way, she is incapable of emotional connection. The subject is contained in this manner to be used as an effective tool, and to maintain the safety of herself and of those around her._

_Report all forms of abnormal behavior to extension 214 immediately. Hesitation can and will lead to physical damage, injury, and loss of life._

Daniel feels his face wrinkle slightly in confusion. What is Project Cauchemar? What is Widowmaker? Possibly some kind of omnic? An animal? What could possibly be so dangerous that it has to be kept in a lab? And why the secrecy? Talon had never been known to hide its weapons or triumphs. The pronouns are a curious choice. He knows that some omnics had gender preferences, but it seemed odd that Talon would use an omnic to further their cause. It could be a salvaged bastion unit retrofitted with a new Talon approve god program, but it still felt hypocritical. He checked his phone, he still had a few more minutes before Project Cauchemar was due to arrive. Might as well do a few minutes of research while he still had the time.

The term “Project Cauchemar” gives him no useful results, except to tell him that cauchemar was French for “nightmare”. Someone far above his pay grade must be pretty full of themselves, he decided while absently chewing on a pen. “Widowmaker” held more results, but none of them relevant to Talon or any current events. Daniel sighed and resigned himself to spinning himself around in his computer chair. What was taking so long?

He managed to spin himself around three more times before he heard the quiet hiss of a hydraulic door opening on the opposite wall. Two armed guards entered first, sweeping the room before giving what appeared to be an “all clear” symbol. A third guard prodded a figure forward, gave Daniel a curt nod, and turned around and led the first two men out of the room. The door closed behind them automatically with another quiet hiss. The sound of metal on tile brought Daniel’s focus directly onto Project Cauchemar.

And Daniel definitely saw where the pronoun choice came from.

Standing before him was no omnic. She resembled a human, despite the clearly mechanical prosthesis that had replaced her from the knees down. She gazed at him with bright yellow eyes, if she looked more awake he was sure he would find himself terrified. She reminded him of a relaxed predator, like any sharp movement would draw her attention and her wrath. Daniel unconsciously shrunk a little in his chair. This was Project Cauchemar? This strange blue woman in a cat suit? She looked more like a comic book hero that a real person. Then again, maybe she was an omnic. Maybe Talon had developed some kind of hyper realistic epithelial layering for stealth missions? There was no way to know for sure, because he had no intention of getting close enough to the woman to find out. No, he would keep his desk between him and Talon’s pet project between them at all times.

“Would you take a seat?” he said, shuffling his papers on his desk absently before freezing. Shit, not even two minutes in and he was breaking rule number one. He risked looking back up at her but she seemed unaffected. She blinked slowly before complying and stiffly seemed to force herself into the flimsy metal chair. There was a slight screech as her feet drug across the floor that made Daniel flinch. Project Cauchemar fixed her eyes on him, waiting.

Right, the paperwork. He dug through a few folders and pulled out a ten page packet and held it out for her to take. Her hand reached out slowly, almost grudgingly, and their fingers brushed as she removed the papers from his hands. He flinched away at her icy touch before wanting to slam his head against his desk. That was two rules now. It was an accident though, hopefully it wouldn’t count too much against him. It didn’t appear to affect her in the slightest anyway. She didn’t look at him again when he slid a pen across the table, and he carefully snatched his hand away before they could accidentally make contact again.

Daniel watched her curiously while she scratched her answers across the pages. Her handwriting was slightly too messy for him to read, much to his disappointment. He supposed he could always read over her answers in private after she left, if that was allowed. A quick glance back to his meager instruction page confirmed that it was mostly likely allowed, unless she took it with her for some reason. A small movement made him tense in his chair, but it was merely Project Cauchemar bringing her arm up to eye level. She tapped the arm band a few times and made a few small notes on the last page of the packet and handed it back to him. She then slid out of the chair, stood up and waited at the hydraulic door again. It made a small beep of approval, slid open, and she disappeared down the hallway.

He managed to wait three whole seconds before scanning over her answers.

Some of the questions seemed routine: name, age, weapons issued. But others made no sense in context. Different hormone level spikes when exposed to different…people? He assumed so, but what kind of names were “Mercy”, “Pharah”, or “Tracer”? More code names, most likely. She was then asked to state her thoughts when encountering different stimuli and people as well, which made it clear to Daniel that she absolutely had to be human. An omnic, at least one built by Talon, wouldn’t understand context of the language. He flipped the pages, scanning even more questions with confusion. This was the strangest combat report he had ever read, and he had completed numerous interviews with soldiers effected by PTSD, combat veterans, and many others effected by various mental illness.

Her answers were even stranger. They were overly simple and to the point, using as few words as possible. How was anyone supposed to analyze this? It simply wasn’t detailed enough. There was nothing to infer upon, save the medical data that made no sense to him out of context. Daniel shoved the papers back into the folder and gathered his things. There was nothing else to do here. He pushed the heavy door open again with a slight grunt, dropped the USB into the container outside the door, and stomped off to the mess hall, annoyed.

A waving hand in front of his face brought his racing thoughts to a halt.

“So how’d it go?” Jahan asked cheerfully.

Daniel sighed and continued walking to the mess hall, the soldier right on his heels. “I’m still alive if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I picked up on that, thanks for the confirmation”, Jahan replied with a slight shove to Daniel’s shoulder. “Now stop pouting and tell me how it went. Got any new scars?”

“Agent Shaw—“ Daniel began.

“Please, agent Shaw was my mother.”

“Jahan! It was fine. A complete waste of time if you ask me. She just sat there, filled out some paperwork and left. She didn’t seem dangerous at all, it looked like she was about to fall asleep the entire time.”

He patted Daniel on the back, “Ah, don’t worry Vasquez. I’m sure she’ll be much more, uh, vocal the next time.”

“Vocal?”

Jahan laughed, steering him into the line. “Oh yeah. Today was the most quiet you’ll see her until her next wipe. She’s quite the chatter box on the battlefield when she thinks no one can hear her. They’ve got her equipment all mic’d to hell and back, and it’s always pretty damn entertaining, even if you don’t speak French.”

Daniel looked at him helplessly, “Wipe? Battlefield? French?”

“Well the ‘wipe’ thing is just a term we soldiers use. It’s just more rumors, we don’t know anything for certain. But she’s definitely French or something. She speaks it fluently and has the accent and everything. It’s made most of us swoon at least once, once you get over the fact that she’s a cold blooded killer. Damn woman never misses a shot. We’re all glad to have her watching our backs, honestly.”

Jahan grabbed a bowl of soup and some coffee and continued leading Daniel through the line, occasionally adding food to both of their trays as Daniel asked, “So she’s, what? Some kind of soldier?”

“Soldier’s putting it lightly, Danny.”

“Daniel.”

“Have it your way. She’s a soldier, yeah. But she’s…well you’ve seen her right? The legs and blue skin and creepy eyes? Talon’s done something to her, no one really knows exactly what. But whatever it was, it’s made her the most terrifying person I’ve ever seen. She uses her rifle like an extension of her body, never needs a spotter. She zips around on that grappling hook like she’s Spiderman from those early millennia comics for fuck’s sake! And don’t even get me started on that goddamn poison gas she carts around with her.” Jahan rants, but with a hint of fondness.

“So she’s some kind of comic book hero? Then what’s with all the mystery and paperwork? If she’s on our side, then why all the cover up?” Daniel counters.

Jahan sits down and gestures Daniel to sit as well. “Well like I said, she’s only that calm after a wipe. The rest of the time she’s kept away from everyone else in her private quarters underneath the lab.”

“And she’s okay with that?” Daniel says with a frown. He can’t imagine a woman like that taking well to being confined or being told what to do, even if he had only observed her docile state. He doesn’t even want to consider the moral implications, but it doesn’t appear to bother Jahan in the slightest.

The man across from him barks out a quick laugh. “Do you think that anyone could hold that woman back? Fuck, Daniel, I’m barely even sure she’s human.” He pushes the peas back and forth idly for a few short moments, not meeting Daniel’s eyes.

“You know something else, don’t you?”

Jahan doesn’t raise his head to meet Daniel’s pointed stare.

“I’m just another tool, not some whiz kid like you are. I know what I get paid to know, nothing more nothing less. All this shit is way beyond my clearance.”

“But you see her, maybe even talk to her sometimes! You have to give me something to go on here before they lock me in a room with her again. How am I supposed to do my job if no one will tell me anything?” Daniel bends the small plastic spoon in his hands.

“Easy there, killer. I’m sure you’ll get your answers soon enough. Now eat your damn soup, it’s getting cold.” Jahan replies, flinging a spoonful of peas in Daniel direction.

Daniel lets them hit his shoulder, clearly not amused. “You’re a bit of an ass.”

“And you’re pretty damn uptight for a newbie. Take the stick out of your ass, it’s your first day. There’s plenty of time to save the world. Give it another week, at least.”


End file.
